


but it's hard when I hate myself

by Laeana



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Breaking Up & Making Up, Fix-It, Getting Back Together, Healing, Loneliness, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Not Actually Unrequited Love, References to Depression, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: Max has always struggled with human relationships in life. Struggled to give himself completely, to reveal. He knows it's because of his father. What has been instilled in him, what is in his head.And Dan ends up not taking it anymore. And Dan ends up leaving him. To go to Charles.He does his best, he does everything he can because he stays with the fucking feeling of not being able to live without Daniel.But what's the point of risking yourself in a losing battle?(Or Daniel leaves Max and Max becomes too unstable not to hurt himself.)
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	but it's hard when I hate myself

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Mirror Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273134) by [Laeana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana). 



> NF - Hate Myself

“No, Max. No. I am fed up with all that. You are just ... too much. I'm leaving you, for real this time. It's over.”

His eyes widen. No sound can leave his throat. When the door slams, he just collapses to the ground, unable to believe what just happened. He doesn't cry, can't even cry about it.

He should have expected it, he should have fucking expected it so much. It was already a miracle that Daniel had stayed so long with him, for him. That he hadn't left him sooner.

Because in the end, they leave. They all leave. They leave him alone with his problems and the worst part is that he can't blame them. How do you blame people who are right ? It's crystal clear, he never deserves them.

When someone approaches him, he finds it hard to trust them. He has a bad temper, he is a dangerous pilot, too aggressive. He can be blamed for so many things and, in the end, there is no one left.

He looks at his trembling hands. A feeling of heaviness comes to bear on his stomach, almost as if he can't breathe. It's been a long time since he felt like this, maybe too much.

He gets up, stumbling, struggles not to fall several times, somehow manages to reach the bathroom. He vomits, in the toilet. This doesn’t stop the shaking, however.

The impression that everything is tightening around him. All. His vision blurs. Focus on his breathing. As his mother taught him so well when he had his first anxiety attacks.

One, two, breathe. One two, breathe. One two breathe. Onetwo breathe. Onetwobreathe. Onetwo- oh damn.

His fingers grip the bathroom sink as if his life depends on it. His reflection in the mirror is pretty bad. Pale, wan face, tight lips, red eyes, crazy eyes, disheveled hair.

He lets his head fall back, banging against the wall several times. Once, twice. He just wants everything to stop. Hyperventilation. The worst moments of his life.

He drops to the floor, enjoying the coldness of the tiles. Letting his uneasiness dissipate on its own. His eyes close. Focused on his breathing. Just a little more. The silence crushes him. There is no one to take care of him of course. He just-

You just kicked out the last person who cared about you.

His gaze falls on the razor placed prominently on the shelf above him. It would be so easy to take it back, so easy.

Like when he was sixteen. When it all got too much to bear then he piled up the wounds and his father he ... his father he ... my god, he told him it was okay. He told him that each athlete has their own way of dealing with stress and if it keeps him stable then that's okay.

Painful memories, quite violent. A scar on the inside of his thigh, almost invisible. On which Dan always posed a questioning glance and he never dared to say anything.

He feels he might collapse.

When he gets up, he is a little better. Perhaps. He leaves the bathroom with the intention of leaving behind him this room in turmoil which welcomed his despair.

He doesn't know he can fall any lower still. Much lower. Because when you're in free fall, there's nothing you can hold on to. You keep going ever lower, ever deeper.

If the videos, the moments that his former boyfriend have accumulated with Charles, he tries not to pay attention to them. He wants it not to hurt. He wants to be like what others describe him, callous. Cold. It's not his emotions that he would like to throw away, it's more fear, sadness, pain, disgust ... in fact it's a good recap of his feelings.

He saw the Ferrari driver's first victory looming before his eyes and it was a complicated weekend. Full of emotions. Anthoine's death is a reminder for him ; he is never safe. If he doesn't kill himself, he might as well die while driving. A passion, a poison.

Finding out that the one who has been his is with his rival hurts him in a deeper way. Or less. He doesn’t know. His senses seem to vary, maybe he's bored ?

A party to celebrate this Grand Prix. Everyone dressed more or less well. The Monegasque in the middle of the crowd, reigning as sole master. Him, aside. Is it really a surprise ? His loneliness at least allows him to have irony towards himself.

There are only pilots, it's almost quite intimate. Daniel arrives and takes the winner by the waist, putting his lips to his cheek. 

He looks away.

The end of the world never comes when you expect it to. Well, it’s not the end of “the” world itself, more the end of a world. The end of his. He has the impression that everything is crumbling around him. A hole might as well open up under his feet and swallow him that he wouldn't even call for help. He doesn’t care.

“Are you okay, Max ?”

Lando brings him back to them, to their conversation and he offers him a shaky smile as an excuse. He wants to throw up again. The only good thing is that his hands are not shaking. For the moment.

“Yes, I ... sorry. I totally zooned.” he answers, cautiously. 

“Are you sure it's just that ?”

“Yes Yes. I promise you I'll be more careful.”

“That's not the problem, you know.”

He doesn't like it when the truth is illuminated. Especially when it’s so ugly, so dark. He puts his glass on the table and runs a hand over his tired face. Difficult to keep an acceptable smile on the lips.

“People don't understand when they don't know you. But I know that despite your character, you keep quiet about the things that are important. Like how you feel or how hurt you are.”

“Ow. Give me back Lando Norris please. Who are you, what have you done with him ?”

“Don't play dumb.”

He could have upset his comrade but he can see that the latter is smiling softly, sadly. Without knowing why their conversation took on such importance. Some eyes are on them. He is uncomfortable. A broken laugh comes out of his mouth.

“I can’t. Today as usual, we have to play the mirror game and pretend we're fine. Showing your weaknesses is putting yourself in danger. I hate preaching these values, I hate my dad for it and I hate myself. But I …”

He can't stand the piercing gaze of his friend, who is two years younger than him and looking much better. He looks down at his hands which are starting to shake. He clenches his fists, digging his fingernails into the flesh to stop.

“... I can't take everything I think. And if I keep going lower, I probably wouldn't be able to ask for help. Sorry.”

He slips away fairly quickly this evening. 

But it's not that night that everything goes wrong. Well Yes. His life has taken an almost dramatic turn and he is starting to no longer be able to live properly.

During qualifying for the following Grand Prix. He remembers being isolated. He remembers looking for silence and solitude. He remembers having a violent anxiety attack just after the qualifying sessions. However ...

His return to the hotel is in total blur. He sees himself again, from an almost external point of view. Sensation that it is not him. That everything is just a vast lie. That he's going to close his eyes and wake up somewhere else. Wake up in the arms of Daniel who will whisper to him that everything is alright.

No.

Everything is white around him. The bathroom is a dazzling white which explodes his retina. His left arm is bleeding. Martyred by long cuts. His hand holds the blade. Red everywhere. Who sullies this purity. He dived again.

“Shit, shit, shit !”

He wipes up the blood with a towel, but that turns out to be a terrible idea since the latter turns crimson. On his knees, he feels helpless and a frank laugh escapes his lips. Looks like he committed a murder. No ... he committed a murder.

He is killing himself after all. Litle by litle. He started today. He doesn’t know when it will end and especially how.

Max finds the first aid kit fairly quickly. He disinfects wounds and grimaces. Four strokes. He takes a little longer to bandage but doesn't seem to have lost his hand for this sort of thing. Has he always been so good at covering up his injuries ?

He takes a deep breath and finishes cleaning the bathroom. There is a strategic meeting. He hopes his loss of consciousness hasn't lasted too long. They are at the end of summer and the heat is quite persistent. He's also the type of person to put on t-shirts, he guesses he will be an exception.

Suffice to say that the next day doesn’t go well. His suit seems to be too tight on his forearm and he has the feeling that his cuts are itching. He plays impassive. He finished eighth and all he can think during the race is fuck, fuck, I started bleeding again.

He is certain of it. He feels his strength abandoning him. Anemia. He gets out of his car, numb. Sees Alex walking towards him, looking quite worried :

“Is it okay ?”

“Why wouldn't it be okay ?”

“The race I guess.”

“Oh yeah, the race. I mean, it doesn’t matter. It's not great but it's alright.”

His relief because he thought his teammate was talking about something else. The latter also frowns at his answer but he doesn't even care, his only priority being to check his wounds, change his bandages, stop the flow before he collapses.

“I have to go, if you will excuse me.”

And because he has everything planned, he brought his first aid kit in his things. He hoped to not be bothered, but his cuts must have been too recent to have had time to heal properly.

The bandages are indeed stained with blood. He changes them quickly and goes out. He really needs to eat something to recharge his batteries.

“Max ?”

He freezes. The impression of having misheard or of having imagined this voice. He puts his hand on his left arm in a protective gesture and takes a deep breath before turning around.

“Dan. What are you doing here ?”

“Just because we’re not together anymore doesn't mean that we shouldn't see each other. We're still friends.”

He represses his urge to roll his eyes. The Renault driver hasn't changed, same brown curls, same sparkling eyes, same warm smile. A real sun. 

Whose proximity he can no longer bear.

“If you say so. What brings you here ?”

“I came to see how you were doing after the race.”

“Very perfectly well. The conversation is over, okay ?”

He shifts, searching in his bag to find his phone. He needs to see someone else, anyone.

“Are you happy with the result? You don’t have …”

He shrugs his shoulders. The Aussie’s face darkened, something sad visible in his eyes.

“Look, I know you're mad at me because I'm dating Charles and it's not been long since we've been together, but I-”

“Yes, yes. He makes you happy, right ? He brings you stability, security. He probably succeeds wherever I've failed, he's perfect, gentle where I was aggressive and was just pushing you over the edge. Is it good for you now ?”

A cold irony that flows from his words. He doesn't care. He won't say how much it hurts him, how bad he feels and how much he wished he had been enough. He doesn’t tell him these crises which are back, of descent or even the cuts which adorn his arms at this very moment. The face of his former teammate closed.

“Okay.”

He turns on his heels and leaves. There is nothing more to say. He's just totally beside himself. Out of context. Full of rage, pain. He would like to forget everything.

When there's nothing more than that between them, it's probably really over. He knows he disappointed Daniel who probably expected a real answer. Never mind. Either way he can't allow him to have any regrets. He has to let him go. And he will move on. Or die.

He finds Lando further away. Or it seems that the latter is with Carlos so he hesitates to disturb him. But the youngest one lights up when he sees him and comes directly to meet him.

“Max ! You're okay ?”

“And you ?”

“It's better than the last time we will say. But you left in a rush the last time. I'm afraid for you, tell me …”

The Briton steps back, examining him from a distance before grabbing his left arm and lifting the sleeve slightly. He doesn't have time to react.

“No ... you haven't reached this point ? Please, you …”

“Lanno, amor, you ... oh Max.”

He gives an amused look to the said that blushes.

“I'll leave you, I think you have something to do.”

How much loneliness is felt ? 

He would like to see his mother and sister a bit again, he didn't have time. He misses his father less though. He doesn't want to think about his behavior, he doesn't need to. He avoids it as much as possible.

A third place, a fourth place, an unfinished race.

And marks that accumulate or disappear over time on his body.

Daniel and Charles ... well they're the perfect couple, aren't they ? Loving, adorable, tightly knit. 

He closes his eyes so as not to see anything, never to see them again. His will seems to fray as he goes along. Critics leave him worn to the core.

A sixth place, he reached the edge of the void. He stays in his room at the end. Lando comes to see him. They don’t speak. Because there is nothing to say. Words are superfluous and would not change anything. It's not him he wants to see and it's not his words he wants to hear. They both know it. 

He is far away.

His friend finally leaves the room, leaving him lying on the couch, staring into space. He hears him come out. He hears him having a conversation with someone at his door apparently.

“What are you doing here Dan ? I'm not sure he really wants to see you.”

“What are you talking about ? I came to find out how he was doing.”

On the defensive. It looks like the Brit is trying to protect him. It's adorable of him.

“Of course he's not doing well. You are happy with someone else. He was resting on you and you left.”

“What ? But if he needed me, he would have said so, he …”

“Really ? You know him better than that, Dan. He doesn't want to destroy your happiness so he destroys himself. You better go.”

The conversation seems to end. Max sighs for a long time. He doesn't even feel legitimate to see the Aussie anymore. This boy who managed to bring out the best in him. He doesn't want to be seen that low.

If a victory is to be celebrated. If his absence is forced then he will be there. Impassive. Dead inside. Empty. His eyes roam the room and he just wants to get out of the crowd. Of the room. He gets a drink, hoping the alcohol will help make the evening better.

“But you have nothing to say about that ? Did you like him anyway or not in the end ?”

“Of course. It's not even something I deny. It's just ... different. I don't know if he suffered as much as I did. Sometimes I felt like I was the only one who cared. I always hated that he didn't confide in me.”

Again. Daniel. It's something he doesn't want to hear. The account of their relationship ? Pathetic. Is he a masochist to stay there ?

“I wonder if I shouldn't have given him more time. I know it's not entirely his fault.”

“Are you kidding ? You are finally out of this relationship of misery, it is not to go back. You have Charles now.”

“Yeah you ... you're probably right.”

He walks away from the scene. His memory plays a happy memory that he won't recover from a time he will apparently never see again.

He remembers the long evenings lying against each other, telling stories, playing FIFA or simply remaining in silence, feeling loved. Were these just illusions ?

Since he still remembers the taste of his lips against his, the little details when they made love, and the bright smiles that have long been given to him.

Max chained Dan to him for a while, hoping that would be enough to keep him. He failed again. This is not what the oldest one dreamed of but looking back he doesn't even know if he could have given it to him. 

He even now doubts that he was ever enough for this man. 

And everyone before him.

Again a quick return to the hotel. Again without notifying anyone. Again the madness shining in his eyes. Mexico. To end it all ? He never thought of the end but it seems like a sweet promise. Something unexpected, impossible, brave in so many ways.

Because sometimes loneliness cannot be remedied. Because sometimes there is no one to save us from the fall. Because sometimes we just want to stop suffering.

He takes the blade and cuts.

Precisely. Along his forearms, beyond some already marked wounds. He opens his skin brutally and above all deeply. Press like he never pressed. And the blood is flowing in a cascade, he is not anesthetized, has difficulty not letting out grunts of pain.

There is too much red. And once again a contrast with the too bright white of the bathroom. He slides back against the wall, letting a puddle form under him, and closes his eyes. Somewhere he rediscovers the days of so many, the past.

Somehow he's happier like that.

A smile floats on his lips, for the first time sincere in a long time.

* * *

**Yeah, late nights get the best of me**

**They know how to get to me**

**Suicide thoughts come and go like a guest to me**

**But I don't wanna die, I just wanna get relief**

**So don't talk to me like you think I 'm so successful**

**What is success when hope has left you?**

**I am not a spokesman, I'm a broken record**

**Sick of doin 'interviews' cause I hate myself, agh!**

**Come across like it's so easy**

**But I feel like you don't need me**

**When I feel like you don't need me**

**Then I feel like you don't see me**

**And my life has no meaning**

* * *

Because they begin and end up together, right ? It's Daniel who finds Max.

Shock takes hold of him. He rushes to his side, lifting him onto his knees. His pulse is weak, slowed down. He calls an ambulance, his first instinct. He struggles to speak the truth, he struggles to talk about what they have ignored for so long.

He always waited until the Dutch was there so they could have a conversation, so he could blame him for things, the failure of their relationship and pretend he didn't have that bitter taste in his mouth. These regrets.

But the youngest one is no longer there.

He watches him from the other side of the window, lying on his bed, pale, sickly, long bandages wrapped around his arms. The doctor came to see him after the surgery, told him about all the other wounds.

He must arm himself with courage to enter the room. He laments his boy's condition, a condition he knows he caused in some way. He can't believe it. To see him also weakened, so dreary, gloomy. Lost. He finds it hard to recognize the young and fiery Verstappen, with a playful and bright gaze

How long has it been since he last saw him fully happy ?

He shivers at the memory of his discovery. The relieved smile on his lips. In a state ... he could have lost him. It is a thought that never leaves his mind and it only hurts to think about it more.

Quiet. His footsteps almost echo in the room. He sits on a chair, away from him. Facing the blue, cold, empty irises.

“No ... not you Daniel. I didn't want you to see me like that. I didn't want to ... I wanted to stop everything.”

“It's not something you have to do. Fuck, Maxy, you are young ! You have your life ahead of you, you shouldn't put yourself in this state. I'd rather see you alive and happy …”

“But how can you be happy, Dan ? It would mean spoiling your happiness. I saw you with Charles, you were good. Did you see what happened to us ? I should have been able to get past that. I am perhaps too weak.”

He brings his hand up to run it over his cheek. A gentle gesture. Because he still loves him, he will never stop loving him for sure. He will not regret having followed him to this evening, having saved him. He would have blamed himself for not having done so.

Simple background. The discussion with his friend clarified a point. He needed to have a conversation with Max quickly. They couldn't stay like this forever. Because he would have the feeling of never being able to move forward.

Yes, he was dating Charles. Yes he was happy. But he couldn't continue to be with him and pretend to be with someone else. Sure he also likes the Monegasque but it will not be the same.

So when he heard that the latter had returned to his hotel, he had obtained Alex's address and had gone after the younger. A number from reception to get the keys but the door was not even closed. Neither that of the bedroom, nor that of the bathroom.

“Not too weak. You are not weak. It's my fault, I should have been there anyway.”

“No ! Stop that. You are going to feel guilty about things that are not your fault. I can't chain you to me. You can see that if I disappeared, you wouldn't have any more problems.”

He rolls his eyes, annoyed, and to silence the insolent, he comes to kiss him with fervor and firmness. A contact that he missed. When he backs up, his companion has turned red.

“You ... you ... why ?”

“I must be an idiot too. I can't be satisfied with Charles when all I want is you. Because I missed you. Because I still love you.”

He doesn't expect his words to be so strong. He sees the Red Bull pilot's eyes fill with tears. The latter takes refuge in his arms, snuggles up against his chest.

“I thought it was impossible. I thought you would never come back. I love you, Dan, I love you so much. I can't live without you, it's so pitiful.”

A soft warmth lights up in him at these words. He runs a hand through the younger man's hair. Kiss his forehead to try to calm him down.

“I felt abandoned. My panic attacks came back. Everything was going wrong, I couldn't even drive properly. The critics, the people around me ... everything was going too fast. I was coming back to the starting point, I was so alone. And that was the only way to have control over myself.”

It grips his heart because Max has always had a hard time confiding in him so to get out of such things so easily is that he is not okay at all.

“It shouldn't have been. You hurt yourself. You've hurt yourself before, haven't you ?”

He remembers the scar on the inside of the thigh, little marked but still there. A trace of a heavy past that his Dutch feared.

“When I was a teenager ... there were too many expectations and I was afraid of not being up to it. My dad didn't care, as long as I got good results. No one knew, no one cared.”

What to say in this kind of situation ? He would like to assure him that he is there, that he cares, but he has been away for too long. He doesn't know if his words will wait for him, he doesn't know if his promises will be enough. 

He feels helpless. Gestures are sometimes stronger than words. He hopes a lot. So he comes to embrace his former teammate with gentleness and tenderness.

“We'll fix it. Together. I won't leave you, Maxy. I promise you. I know it's hard to believe but it's true. We'll find a way. I love you very much, I won't let you down anymore.”

Close to him, his protege sighs. 

Daniel brings him back with him. His home. He watches him constantly. A convalescence. He wants to refuse his participation in the United States Grand Prix but of course his stubbornness ends up tiring him and getting the better of him.

And things are a little better, a little less bad. Life can't always be positive, he assumes. However, he makes sure to give the younger one time, because time is often the best medicine for healing wounds.

He breaks up with Charles. It just happens. In a way, the Monegasque has understood what happened and is not making such a big deal out of it. He wonders if their romance was just a deliberate act in the race for the Leclerc-Verstappen rivalry.

He handles each of Max's wounds until they stop. It is not every day easy. He has times when he feels himself cracking up. And things turn upside down. And it's the other pilot who holds him in his arms.

They are making progress. They are on hold. They love each other too, though. Since they find each other. Storms. Lulls.

Those moments when he hugs his Dutch strong in his arms, in front of the TV, without necessarily needing to speak, finally complete, that's when he realizes how happy he is to have saved him.

He loves him. 

They heal.

In the eyes of the whole world, nothing happened. It's just a day like any other, in the middle of a week like any other. For them it's more than that.

They exchange a last glance before closing the visor of their helmet, setting out again for a new race, under the attentive eyes of crowds. Crowds who will never know what they've been through.

It's once again time for the eternal mirror game.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I think my note, translated was :  
> I saw too many Charles/Daniel ship lately, honestly ! And too many where Max was left to watch what was left of his relationship with Daniel, alone. So, I wanted to do something reversed. One where Max couldn't take it. And all of this made ... that. I hope you liked it.
> 
> What I can say is that I'm back at translating my old works, my beginnings here, thanks for reading !
> 
> tumblr : laeana


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